Ma Belle Demoiselle
by storytellers
Summary: An experiment with a rare ship I don't even ship. Eponine/Combeferre. You read that right. Feel free to laugh but you might as well read. Will probably eventually contain E/R because that one I do ship. Loosely based on My Fair Lady.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** As you may have guessed, loosely based on 'My Fair Lady'. This idea started as an attempt to write an E/E – which I admit I don't ship at all. That was the challenge of it. I wanted to do it as a writing exercise to see if it was possible to do it well. Or passably well. Or at least not horribly badly. Early on I realized I needed a much bigger mental effort to even attempt to make an E/E work for me than I am capable of during exam time. No offense meant to anyone – if it's your favourite ship it's your favourite ship and I am willing to give it the benefit of the doubt. I am only pointing out the fact that I don't particularly ship Eponine with anyone or even write her much or read her (until now) in order to emphasize that this is an experiment. It may work or not, I am interested in the process of trying to make it work.

I might still try E/E at some point for the same reason but the level of difficulty is much too great for me with everything else I need to do. I couldn't do it now so instead this came along. I have to say I have never actually seen an E/Ferre fic. It shows how curious fandoms are sometimes, doesn't it? Because E/E is abundant and yet it seems to me that Eponine is slightly more plausible in a couple with pretty much anyone else. Ah, it's probably just the musical's fault. It works well enough if you ignore the book.

Other warnings – we may or may not get a dose of E/R. We probably will because it just feels like it should be there. Also, this fic is campy, just get into the spirit of it. I am well aware it will not be voted one of the top ten best works of fiction in this fandom.

**1.**

"Stupidity, thievery, profanity, prostitution – they are all inherited, Combeferre. Just like a man whose father went bald knows that the same fate will undoubtedly befall him. Being simple is a familial disease and it cannot be cured. Some things you can bleed out of people and others you cannot. You speak of raising all of humanity from the gutter but some of humanity was clearly meant to be there. It is their native environment! Education for all is a naïve idea. You can teach them to read and write but their minds will never comprehend the philosophies and ideas you want to put there."

Combeferre slowed his pace with a mental effort when he noticed his contained anger was translating into longer, faster strides, hitting the paving stones like he would not allow himself to hit his classmate. Lambert was a medical student, as advanced as Combeferre in his studies but, in Combeferre's personal opinion, much behind in the development of his soul. They often shared classes and Combeferre respected his skills. He was forced to admit there was often a lot to learn from him. This only made listening to such opinions more painful.

"I wish to put nothing in anyone's mind, Lambert," he said. "I would merely be happy to present some less fortunate souls with the many wonderful things a mind can do. To show them the things that can be stored in there if one would only seek that knowledge and have the means to access it."

Lambert snorted in a rather condescending manner.

"They do not want your knowledge, my friend, only your money. And once they have them, they will drink them away, those common workers of yours. You do not truly know them."

"Vices are not the prerogative of the poor, nor those born in the lower classes" Combeferre answered tightly. "And, indeed, poverty can affect a man of any social class. As for truly knowing the common workers, a dear friend of mine is a worker and an orphan at that. He has taught himself to read and write and he knows how to seek and absorb knowledge better than most students I know. I have never once seen any evidence that he may be drinking his money away. I have more than once seen it in my classmates and other associates. I find your claims insulting to him."

Lambert glanced at him with raised eyebrows. His eyes betrayed a subtle hint of mockery which Combeferre found completely infuriating.

"A worker. How impressive. Are you sure you did not dream him up?"

Combeferre felt a wave of indignation on account of both himself and Feuilly and he wanted to raise his voice but he fought it down. He realized that, considering his chosen path, arguments like this would only become more frequent in the future and he could not allow himself to be ruled by his emotions.

"Quite."

Despite his effort at control, his tone must have been truly icy because Lambert backed down a notch.

"Ah, very well. But then perhaps that erudite worker of yours is simply a curiosity. A one in a million exception to the rule. Or perhaps he has not yet had a chance to disappoint you."

Combeferre turned sharply to look at his companion.

"Have you no pity? These people have been brought down by their circumstances! By their lack of freedom and opportunities! Who is to say that if they had what we have they would not do better with it than we? And you mention things like prostitution and say they are diseases. You are right, I say, by they are not inherited and it is not only those who offer such services that are infected. They are diseases of our society. Prostitution, picking people's pockets or begging. All of it. It is only a result of taking away a human's basic rights to freedom and survival. If we gave those rights back, then…"

"You mistake my sentiments completely. I am not disgusted by poor people the same way I am not disgusted by potatoes. I simply acknowledge that they are not flowers. I do have pity and I have helped out at hospitals and workhouses without charge as often as you. I do not say the poor should not have enough to eat. I simply say you cannot take a random beggar off the streets and turn them into a lady or gentleman even if you give them all the education and freedom you can find. What was that fellow who came to pick you up yesterday? Thin, very young, horribly dressed? He was telling you some ridiculous nonsense about some prostitute he'd talked to on the street and how she was no less deserving than the ladies you both had danced with at the last ball. By God, if one of the girls at that dance had only heard him! To be compared to a prostitute! Incidentally, does he even know what prostitutes are for and that you do not simply stop them to talk to them?" He stops for a moment to laugh. "She must have been disappointed."

"He paid for her time so he could talk to her," Combeferre clarified quietly.

"He paid to talk with a whore? When he could easily talk to a decent girl for free? Well, perhaps the clothes might make most girls turn away but I still believe he would be able to charm one or two with those big eyes of his. What strange people do you associate with, Combeferre? A talk! And then you both started a conversation, right there on the steps, on the education of women and how to take women off the streets and how every woman would be a lady if she had someone to teach her. By God, Combeferre, you looked serious! I don't mind telling you a few of us found the whole thing rather amusing at the tavern last night while we watched one such precious lady spit on the floor and another gulp down a bottle of wine faster than the whole table of old drunks in the corner. And then they got into some disagreement and screeched like pigs being slaughtered the next fifteen minutes. Quite off-putting, I tell you. And a few younger ones there, dirty as canal rats, they tried to pick our pockets! Can't turn one of those things into a lady if you bang all of your theories about the triumph of human nature into her head with a hammer."

Combeferre frowned. Perhaps yesterday afternoon they should have gone somewhere more private before discussing social matters. But it was not exactly a revolutionary topic and Jehan had been so affected by his encounter that Combeferre had gotten immediately pulled into the conversation.

"Every man was brought to this world by a woman. Perhaps we should have more respect for them and they would not be reduced to what you describe," he said.

"What brought _me_ to this world was an honourable woman from an honourable family. Not the same species as your street rats. Even if you dress a thieving drinking girl from the streets in fine clothes, she will still be a thieving drinking girl from the streets. One can always tell. You see if I'm not right. Find some poor thing off the streets and drown her in your education, see if she ever changes enough to fool me. I would be quite entertained too but, alas, you will not do it. Because it is all fine and well to talk and theorize but you know as well as I that your ideas cannot be put to practice. You, with your refined nature, will be even less able to bear coarseness for long than the rest of us. Rest your mind, my friend, and perhaps try to enjoy a prostitute without attempting to deliver her."

Having had the final word on the matter, Lambert waved him a farewell and departed in a different direction. Combeferre considered calling after him and offering an argument but he thought better of it. Feeling wounded and troubled by this attack on his ideals and his ability to implement them, he continued on his way towards Courfeyrac's home where he was due to deliver instructions for the printing of a new pamphlet.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **As always, please review. Thank you so much to the people who already have and please forgive all the mistakes, they will be fixed soon. For those of you who noticed the crazily gender-ambiguous title this had at the beginning – that taught me to look at what I'm copy-pasting *giggles*. I'll correct the tense problems in the last chapter soon and let me know if I slip again. I'm just writing this in tandem with 'Prayer' and the present tense gets into your head. Someone wondered who would be the Colonel – well, I don't think it will be just one person. While this is based on 'My Fair Lady' it won't follow it too closely so we'll see where we go. Enjoy!

**2.**

"Why, I am certainly appalled at such words!" Courfeyrac declared, waving his cup of coffee in such enthusiasm that the liquid nearly sloshed over the rim. "There is a real girl somewhere underneath each pile of dirty skirts and matted hair in Paris."

"He knows," Bossuet said, nodding in all seriousness. "He has checked personally and it is all true except for the cases when there is a real boy underneath the skirts."

He chuckled as he attempted to avoid Courfeyrac hitting him with the stack of papers he was holding in his other hand and ended up toppling to the floor together with his chair. Combeferre expelled a small sigh and helped him up to general laughter.

"In all honesty though, Combeferre," Courfeyrac said when they were all seated again. "You cannot back down from such a challenge. You simply must answer it."

"Courfeyrac, please, not you and your bets again. I am not a gambling man."

"But this is not about gambling!" Courfeyrac protested. "It is about the dignity of the poor! And of women! The capabilities of the human spirit!"

Combeferre groaned. "Do not throw my own words back at me. You do not truly expect me to stop some girl on the street and offer to give her lessons in etiquette."

"Wait, why not?" Bossuet asked, clearly amused by the direction the conversation was taking. "We are a society dedicated to the education of the youth, are we not?" He winked. "Perhaps, if you are successful, it may help more of the oppressed see a better future for themselves and join our cause."

"The two of you are out of your minds."

"Are you, perhaps, afraid of what your neighbours will say if you are seen with a woman?"

"Courfeyrac."

"Or you are worried Enjolras may die of shock."

"Do not tease me, Courfeyrac, I am warning you. L'Aigle, what is this expression on your face?"

"Simply concentration. I am trying to imagine Enjolras dying of shock for any reason."

"You will be more successful trying to imagine the king proclaiming a republic and dancing in his nightshirt on the square to celebrate it," Combeferre said with conviction.

Bossuet laughed.

"Thank you, now I will not be able to get that image out of my mind for the rest of the day."

At that moment, there was a knock on the door and Courfeyrac went to answer it. Combeferre and Bossuet could not see who stood on the other side on account of Courfeyrac's back obscuring the view but the voice they heard was enough to make them wince.

"I'm looking for monsieur Marius, ain't 'e 'ere?" the voice croaked.

It was impossibly grating. There was a note of femininity somewhere in it but that only made it worse, as the listener not only had to make peace with the fact that someone could sound like that but also that said someone was a member of the fair sex.

"Marius isn't here right now. I am not certain when he will be back," Courfeyrac answered pleasantly.

"You wouldn't know where I can find 'im, would you?" the unknown woman rasped again.

"Ah, mooning in some park, perhaps? I'm afraid I cannot be sure. I swear, half of the time even _he_ is not sure where he is. Is it something urgent?"

"Only…"

She trailed off and, after a few moments, Courfeyrac seemed to take pity on her because he stepped aside.

"Come in and have some coffee with us. Perhaps Marius will come back soon."

As it turned out, the sight was not better than the sound. The creature that entered was a girl – a young girl at that. That fact made Combeferre's heart clench even more in sympathy and outrage at her fate. She was wearing nothing but a chemise and a ragged skirt and her dirty hair hung in rat-tail strands down to her shoulders. Some of her teeth were missing, which she tried to cover when she noticed him looking at her by drawing her lips over them and going from a grin to a sulky, almost accusatory expression. Combeferre felt pity. But somewhere along with the pity, he was slightly disgusted as well. He caught himself thinking that being poor did not necessarily mean not making an effort and from the sight of this creature, she was not only unfortunate but she was doing nothing about it. And she was a heavy drinker – he could tell by the voice. It was the result of too much brandy.

When he realized what he was thinking, his heart dropped. Did he have the right to make any such assumptions? What did he know of this child's fate? Was Lambert, perhaps, right about him?

While Combeferre was struggling with such guilty thoughts, Courfeyrac had invited the girl to a chair, placed a cup of coffee in front of her and presented her to them as 'Eponine'.

"How do you know our Marius?" Bossuet asked curiously. He had already given Courfeyrac a few questioning looks at which Courfeyrac had shrugged. By their friend's manner, it looked like he had seen the girl before but could obviously not discuss her with them in her presence. Combeferre himself wondered. She could not be a prostitute, could she? The thought of Marius and a prostitute was… Oh, God, somewhat humorous, even to him. He hid a smile behind his cup.

"We used t'live in th' same house, we did," she explained with some pride. "I've been to 'is room an' everythin'."

The 'everything' was not much, Combeferre suspected.

"I wrote a note for 'im," Eponine continued a little defensively as if they had dared to contradict her. "I can write, y'know!"

"You seem very educated, Eponine," Courfeyrac remarked lightly and Combeferre noticed he was looking at him with a grin the young doctor did not care for at all. "I bet you could make a truly fine lady someday."

"He'd notice me if I were a proper lady," Eponine muttered, seemingly talking to her cup. Bossuet made a compassionate grimace at Combeferre, who was starting to feel a little attacked.

"If someone offered to teach you to be a lady, would you agree to do anything for that purpose?" Courfeyrac asked, causing Combeferre to glare at him really hard but in vain.

"What would I have t'pay?" the girl asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," Courfeyrac assured her. "All of the costs would be covered. Why, I'd cover them personally for a fine girl like you!"

Eponine brightened and assumed a somewhat faraway look. "Oh, that'd be loverly! I'd have a better life if I were a real lady. Men'd like me and not spit at me on th' street. M. Marius might like me. I wouldn' have t'carry stupid messages anymore for m'father an' M. Marius and every damn' connard who passes me by. I might even get a job with th' other girls and they wouldn' look at me like I was dirt 'cause I'd be the most lady of 'em all! If I were clean and talked more refined, they might take me for a maid somewhere and I'd live in a warmer house an' I wouldn't have t'be a lookout an' write letters t'rich people an' pick pockets for m'dad…"

She snapped out of her daze to see Bossuet looking at her in sympathy, Courfeyrac beaming and Combeferre with his face in his hands.

"Extra points if you get her married to your Lambert!" Courfeyrac whispered.


End file.
